fata morgana

fiction by jeremy hammer

There are days that come in the late of Autumn which fill my soul with melancholy and set my heart to recalling restless memories. My mind floods with thoughts of lovely days past that are lost forever, only to be felt again but vaguely in the lonely regions of memory. The first chilling winds of Winter sweep over me and I am reminded of cozy Winters gone by. Leaves of ochre float aimlessly from their lofty stations to lie forgotten upon the cooling earth as their parched bouquet puts me in mind of boreal nights spent before a crackling fireplace with someone very special.

Most of all, they are days when I am alone and desperately lonely, when my poor heart cries out for companionship and affection. They are times when my days are filled with wishes and my nights with dreams.

It was on one such day that I arose lethargecally to answer a ring of the door that surely must be the paper boy making his paltry collections. As I approached the door my gaze found its way through a window whose drapery had been pulled wide to let in the light, but there was little for I saw the bleak and colorless outside, the somber, hoary sky that cast a smothering depression over the city.

The heavy oak door was opened listlessly. In lieu of the expected paper boy, I discovered Bob Watson, a first cousin to me by marriage. He stood a tall six feet, two with his phosphorous blue eyes smiling at me. I had not seen him for many months and so was surprised to find him a rich tan. Even in the oppressively gray light of morning his blond, severely cropped hair seemed to glisten with the sheen of gold.

"Bob! Great Scott, man, what're you doing here? Come in, come in!"

He sauntered into the room with his characteristic football player's casualness and stopped in the centre of the floor.

"As a matter of fact, I just this minute got into town. Came straight here." "I say, it's good to see you, Bob! Sit down, for Heaven's sake."

He slumped awkwardly into a heavy leather chair and smiled. "You haven't gotten rid of your accent, I see."

"Oh, well, you know how it is. Born a Briton, always a Briton. I still can't bring myself to sound American. But look who's talking! I can just see you turning very British if you lived there only a year-like I've been here." "You're right, it would probably never happen."

"Say, how's Eve?"

"She's fine," he said, grinning proudly, "except for a strong case of pregnancy."

"What! Bob, how marvelous! Congratulations, old man! And I was getting ready to ask if you two were happy.'

"Are you kidding? I'm nuts about her. I think I'd die if I didn't have Eve." "How unique! A happy marriage. I suppose you know people will talk if they find out."

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